Incubator

The wind knocked petals from the trees and it looked like snow. It was cold enough for snow. But it was petals. Gently. Let’s not talk about the weather. Not talk about it anymore. The blue is up above the clouds. On a plane, you would see it up there—blue and the sun in the distance. The sun might even shine through your window. We slept with the rain tinkling against the window. Hello, hello. Lo. Lo. The ferns have pushed out of their fiddleheads. Everything pushing up and out. The birds fly low in the rain. They fly low across the road and we nearly hit them with our cars. Sometimes they walk. The weight of water too much for their hollow bones. They are trying to keep their chicks safe and warm and fed. In school they have eggs in a heated box. Soon the chicks will peck their way out of the shells. The children will see them come through. Touch them. Gently.